


compassion over passion

by heartbreakage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: M/M, One Night Stands, Rough Sex, rough sex mostly just coming into play because uhh kris cant control his strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26725705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbreakage/pseuds/heartbreakage
Summary: on a night that could very well be his knight's last, prince marth does well to provide.
Relationships: Marth/My Unit | Kris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	compassion over passion

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuses bro. love me some dutiful prince + pining knight rapports lmao

The night before the final battle, within their encampment outside the Dragon's Table, many couples within the army unified under the stars or took to one single tent. Lovers who previously slept apart to honor a sensibly rigid, gender-dividing military code now slept together while they still could; on an evening that could very well be their last. Marth and his echelon of generals naturally turned a blind eye.

Gharnef and Medeus were formidable foes who would not leave their world without first taking many of their friends with them. For the good of morale, and for a kind and humane understanding of their fellow man, it was best to allow their knights to behave however they wished with whatever loved ones they still soundly retained. 

Altea's shining prince himself, a usual model of spotless conduct, also took advantage of this informal pardon, though in his case it had been more for another’s sake rather than his own. He entered a pavilion tent decorated with both the Talysian and Altean insignias, then swept the woman he found inside into his arms until the embrace thickened into something more.

As he combed his fingers through Caeda's hair afterward, murmured his loving hopes for their future, and stilled mercifully at the weight of her head against his arm until she fell asleep, he satisfied himself with the reasoning that she would cherish tonight's memories. Caeda would still have regrets if he were to pass, certainly, but now not as many.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure the same could be said for another. A man he cared for just as deeply, in a different sense of love. As a king unto his closest and most talented general, perhaps, but even then that was not quite the right comparison.

Kris was his constant shadow and confidant, a pinnacle of loyalty who he has never seen to regard anyone with particular closeness. As a lover. How did such a knight fare at this moment, was he alone where everyone else otherwise held loved ones in their arms? Did he submerge himself in worries for the impending final battle with no one to absolve them?

Concerns for the man fogged the inside of his head and slipped into a tangible form, carefully untangling him from his slumbering fiancee as he ghosted his way to a different tent. The guards he encountered with their fluttering torchlights saluted him along the way to this destination and Marth smiled in return, the bottom half of his face numb in apprehension. Some delicate, nervous feeling intermingled with resolve, and more importantly, the eternal sense of duty he has always levied for his people. His subordinates, including.

The flaps of the tent he stood before were drawn closed, but the off-duty knight behind them was no doubt awake. Polishing his blade or oiling his armor, some methodical action or another to prepare him for the final battle ahead. He’s done it the night before every other battle, after all, so Marth asks a different question than what he first intends.

"..Kris, I would like to have a word. Are you alone?"

A quiet shuffling occurs within the depths and within seconds, a single flap peeled back. “Prince Marth? Yes, of course, whatever you could need and more,” Kris said with surprise, in a low and quiet voice mindful of his sleeping brethren within adjacent tents, but still rising to step out and stand at attention before his lord.

Marth swept his way inside before he ever could. Dressed in only a light sleeping tunic, thin trousers, yet maintaining all the grace he’s ever shown in full armor and a flowing cape. The royal guard crouches anew and scooted back on his heels to allow the entry, watching him with curiosity yet expectation. Awaiting an order, no doubt expecting it.

As he tugged his bedroll forward by its edge for the prince to sit upon, what he failed to expect in the next few minutes was Marth's own curiosity.

“Are you close to anyone within the army, Kris?" Marth arranged himself neatly across the spread of cowhide and sheepskin, hands in his lap, his face blank and acutely aware of the way Kris has slept here many a night. Where he might take an eager partner to bed, had he someone of the sort. "Any individual within our ranks who might keep you company throughout these late hours?”

Kris blinked sluggishly at the questions, seated cross-legged atop his travel pack, then in a moment of contemplation he leaned back on his hands. “Naturally, I’m close to the seventh platoon. Roderick and Luke particularly, Ryan and Cecil as well. Katarina. Forgive me, but I’m not sure what begs the question, sire. We all sleep separately If that’s what you’re asking.”

A generous amount of names but no lovers amongst them, then. The knowledge curls quietly in Marth’s head, solidifying something within him. Perhaps the resolve of what he compassionately intends.

“That’s a shame, Kris. This is a critical night, and as I’m sure you know, it could be anyone’s last. As my finest knight and.. My friend, the idea of you alone here feels only wrong.”

“Finest knight? I’m not so sure about that,” Kris smiles humbly, his grey-blue eyes all too clear and easily read even in the darkness, yet to shine with recognition at what was being offered. ”You are exceeded by your heart, sire, but I’m not bothered by being on my lonesome. My blade is for you, always has been. This resolve of mine is all I need for company and more.”

Any other place and time the noble declaration would be enough to spill Marth’s joy, be it in the form of his thanks or a gratified smile, but it hangs a pensive frown across his mouth instead. A man capable of so many things, so selfless and loyal and talented, yet devoted singly to the Altean prince in body and soul.

It leads to Marth wonders if this fealty to him has been an unforgiving monopoly of the man, all along. if he has unwittingly kept him from forming bonds that might otherwise sustain him outside the battlefield and beyond his sword hand.

If he was the reason Kris must sleep alone on the coldest and most uncertain night of the year. 

His hand flits to give a comforting squeeze to the young man's thigh and he murmurs quietly, _honestly,_ in the remaining void of space between them. "There is not a man under the stars who deserves it less on this particular evening. Waiting out the hours to the world's final battle, or even to its end, all by himself that is." 

There is something in the knight that flickers at that, in his eyes, far too quick and slippery to be substantial. Distantly, the corresponding knee twitches beneath his touch but doesn't draw away.

"Prince Marth, no matter how alone I may be, I have never once felt that I was whenever you were around."

Marth weighs the admission, wonders if there is something looming beyond their immediate meaning. His shadow's words only strengthen his concerns, yet they weaken the inhibitions of something else. It is at this point that Marth decides he will return the many boons of Kris’s service with one great hospitality of his own.

"If that is how you feel, then all the more reason," He starts and trails off with a dry mouth, like a wad of cotton were placed on the flat of his tongue.

"Milord? What do you mean?"

The questioning echo sees no response. Marth raises himself up halfway onto his knees instead and sidles his way closer to the other, closer and closer, until the lax expression on Kris’s face tightens into something vaguely alarmed then speculative. Finally, it wordlessly lit up with understanding as he reached out with his hand and cupped it along his jaw.

Realization. Acceptance. _Reciprocation._ Kris leans, then melts into his touch, but suddenly snaps from his lull as if out a reverie and holds Marth away by the wrist. His knight has always boasted a fine physicality and his fingers encircled the bone with a firm squeeze, but with enough restraint as not to hurt his liege. A grip alike the clamp of a cuff but without its harsh edges, he thinks.

"Sire, I appreciate your.. Your _kindness,_ " Marth could almost smile wryly at the tactful term, as if the offering of a warm, pliant body were exactly that. "But lady Caeda deserves this attention more. She surely awaits you. Needs you." 

The prince gave a knowing quirk of the lips, instead. "I have already taken care of the woman I love and seen her to bed. All that is left is you, Kris. Tomorrow.. You or I may not be here at all. Knowing that, I cannot leave you simply be. "

His noble words have sung sweetly to the man's sensibilities perhaps, or even the lack thereof, because the iron grip around his wrist loosens and Marth allows his hand to return, rubbing his thumb in circles along the sharp fringe of his jaw. 

He continues, simply because he feels that Kris's conscience needs it to savor whatever may come without shackles. "I've always preached that my people come first. This is true. Even as a knight, to me you are someone in Altea's image just as well as any citizen. Do you understand, Kris?"

"..I would like to think that I do, sire."

The words are carefully succeeded by the knight's hand, laying over his knuckles and he couldn't help but notice they ran far too hot between the two of them. Marth felt a burgeoning heat bloom to his cheeks and he willed the feeling away. A duty of the crown. Responsibility over his knight. These alone would be his principles. Think on little else-

"You are in my care. As your lord, it is my duty to provide just as well as it is yours to serve. "

Kris said nothing at all to this, even if his soft wanting eyes said absolutely everything.

Swallowing thickly, Marth seized the opportunity to swoop in before he dared make his retreat. Aiming for a kiss but landing his lips clumsily at the butt of the knight’s chin. It is dark inside the tent, far too dark for any semblance of accuracy behind his actions, but somehow it's still enough to string Kris along and roll this exchange down the hill Marth has imagined since he first entered the knight's tent. With a firm touch he's pushed gently back onto that bedroll, growing ever more familiar with it.

The next twenty or so minutes, or perhaps it is actually an hour, feels endless and yawning. First cool then hot. Like a supple lance of dough stretched from end to end, bracing of temperature in the hands then volcanically hot as it's baked over stones. That, too, is the uncanny metamorphosis of their time together.

Lovemaking with a woman, with Caeda, did not demand as much foreplay for the premier act of love-making. It is an exceptionally different story with a man.

Tunic popped open and fanning out beneath him, his trousers pulled down his quads, a clinical opinion even crawled to the fore of his mind. Thoughtful despite the circumstances that demanded very little thought in actuality. For all the novelty of the act, at least there was comfort in the knowledge his royal guard acted in bed much the same way that he fought. Giving his all during every moment that he drew breath, no reserve of his eagerness denied to those on the receiving end.

It was certainly a respectable attitude upon the battlefield and across the training grounds, but splayed here across his knight’s bedroll Marth could not totally appreciate it for its intensity. He squirmed to the set of digits scissoring inside his hole and grounded himself by Kris's condolences when his fingernails caught on his rim, or pushed a bit too insistently inside.

Then finally, the man gripped his slick member by the base and guided it carefully inside, generous with his pauses. Bright reverent eyes meeting with a pair even brighter, he stopped only once this passage ended with his pelvis locked against Marth’s buttocks.

He acted next on instinct, pure and base reflex; the extreme and untried squeeze of suction around his cock could drive any man to reckless abandon. To seek more. A few initial cracks of the knight’s hips ensued, exceedingly raw and needy and _unthinking,_ hammering into the prince's ass and ridding him of his ability to cry out and in part, even to breathe.

At this point Marth suddenly thought to the waves rolling turbulently beneath the tall Chiasmir Bridge, crashing against the base of the Grustian bluffs from where general Camus had fallen in the previous war, and he decides that the snap of Kris’ hips are a force of nature all their own. Despite his willingness and his good intentions Kris is _inexperienced,_ even by a few more notches than Marth himself, and he knows this because Kris does not hold back when he should. At least not at first.

The effect on him is immediate. A harsh breath whistled between his teeth, escapes them, at the white-hot bursts of pain that flared throughout his body from the tender crux behind his balls. Lesser men might have squeezed out a tear, even.

Kris gushed his apology at the sound, like an animal that has startled at the cry of a littermate bitten too harshly during play. After a hesitant nod, he only spread his knees wider apart still, patient and understanding with his saintlike attitude as always. He knew that the malice was without intention and now that Kris was adjusted, there will no longer be any mistakes that he does not mean.

So they continue, with Marth rolled flatly onto his back and Kris curved over him like a robust, broad-shouldered bow. Unraveling his prince with double the patience and restraint, in languid thrusts. Marth trembles despite the sweltering heat inside the tent, as if beset by the cold, and it alarms his royal guard until he realizes it’s only for the way his cock rolled deep and slow. The head of it kissing a bundle of nerves inside that he has only heard mentioned on the grapevine between knights sharing trade secrets to heighten pleasure in bed.

He replicated the force and angle a few more times. Rocking their wedded forms, again and again and _again,_ the sweat-slick sinews of his back and abdomen rippling with the technique. The twisted expression across his prince’s noble face conveyed his reception, once sleek hair even now wildly arrayed across the bundled wrap of cloth that served as Kris’s pillow. For as mindfully quiet as the lord tried to be, he breathed heavily and occasionally choked on his own spittle to a soft, reedy cacophony of sounds that informed Kris he was doing well.

The tent filled with these noises, alongside the wet squelches of penetration, until he finally gasped and clutched the knight's bicep to warn him with a touch. So tightly Kris thought he'd have a brand right there the next morning in the shape of his liege's fingers. He came quivering like a shaking leaf over his own stomach and Kris let out a guttural groan at the clenches of his ass, strangling his cock as if he couldn't pull away even if he wanted.

His breath quickened noisily through his mouth, then violently with the peaking tensity inside his gonads, and he looked to his prince for permission even then. Always his knight first and foremost. 

"Don't hold back," Marth said simply beneath his lashes, the rabbit-like rise and fall of his chest, and somehow they both thought to the same moment. A knight who had admitted to his debased affections for violence, proving his mettle by the clash of steel, and the prince who promised to hold all these ill desires and more at bay.

Without further hesitation, he held Marth flush to his groin by the thin raised juts of his hipbones and drove himself deep inside. Tonight his prince's body was a temple and in the reflection of his immense loyalty, his offering floods and dribbles wetly between Marth's thighs. He rutted his hips frantically to stretch out the release, stomach flexed with tension and brows knitted together. Marth turned his face aside and bit his lip at the feeling, then sat up gingerly as Kris rolled off and away.

The royal straightened out his legs and paused, as if debating on whether they were still of any use to him, then thought better of it and tentatively lifted his hips off the ground tugging his trousers back into place. He closed the lapels of his tunic despite the spunk that still shone with a sticky-wet sheen over chest and stomach, before shivering with the cold of his cooling sweat. Kris had the courtesy to notice and retrieve a spare mantle for his journey, however short, back to the king's tent.

Except, his lord refuses it with a waving hand, half-lounging still across the bedspread of animal skins. 

"I promised you, didn't I? You won't be sleeping alone in your tent tonight. If you don't mind it, I.. Until the morning.."

The man blinked in understanding, drawing himself much closer and locking his arms loosely around the prince's waist. "I'll remember this night as well as the day I was born, sire. Tomorrow, I'll see to it that you have no enemies, be they Gharnef or Medeus or any god placed above them."

"Those are fine words, Kris, I'd like to believe them very much," Marth says in a far, distant voice for however near he lay. Whether sleepy or reflective, his knight could not say. They listened temperately to the white-noise melody of crickets outside, each thinking on different things. How one man has served, and how another may continue to serve.

 _I have no regrets,_ the Hero-King had almost wished to say further, out of his kindness, but the words sit dormant as unwatered seeds on the tip of his tongue. Unleashing the sentiment would solidify the moment to one of particular attachment, but they had not exchanged hearts tonight as lovers did. His had been pledged to another since the war had even began.

Kris has given himself and his talents to Marth time and time again, proven his dedication even thrice over his most long-standing of men. In turn Marth has only provided the most reasonable comforts he could on a night of lasts. Compassion beyond passion.

After tomorrow, the third defeat of the pontifex and Shadow Dragon, he hopes that if Kris should die at all he will at least not do so with regrets.

Behind him, Kris prays that for the sake of his liege his strength will prevail.

**Author's Note:**

> sips quietly. thoughts, comments, sorrows, appreciations? leave them down below :')


End file.
